We live in a joy-dissipating world. Each day’s news brings information that tends to erode our joy. Life takes us by surprise, and soon we find ourselves asking, where have joy and happiness gone?
A close friend’s ten-year-old daughter was diagnosed with bone marrow failure three months ago and underwent a stem cell transplant recently. The pain and struggle their family is facing cannot be described in words. Diseases hit us, and our sense of control is gone. Suddenly, we realise the truth of Kate Bowler’s statement: “Complete control is an illusion. It is a beautiful lie.”
Some weeks ago, I met our church pastor while I was out for a walk. He was on his way to visit a family who had lost their father. The day before, he had lost his own mother. As we spoke, he said, “This is the seventh death this week; every day we have one funeral.” I was taken aback and asked, “How are you?” With a broken smile, he replied, “This is our calling.” Death, especially where we live now, is a daily reality.
Around the world, disasters destroy everything people own in milliseconds. Wars, the economy, borders, and policies leave communities, families, and even nations with confusion, complexities, and carrying losses that can never be recovered.
So how do we live out Paul’s exhortation to “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances” (1 Thess. 5:16-18)? How do we experience “joy unspeakable” in a joy-dissipating world?
Joy Is a Gift
Two years ago, I met a group of young people whose healthcare community had endured unprecedented challenges. Many of their friends had been jailed under false accusations—those remaining lived under constant threat.
One evening, through tears, one of them said, “We did not know what to do. Every day, there were ongoing threats. We were afraid.” After a pause, they continued, “But, sir, we are so grateful for what we have gone through. We have become close to each other and to God. There is a peace and confidence we cannot explain. We are rejoicing these days.”
God gives us joy as a gift. It is not in our power, but in the One who is joy himself and has given himself to us.
The tears remained, but so did the smile. I had come to encourage them, yet I left encouraged myself.
They were sad about what had happened, yet unmistakably joyful. This joy was a gift.
In Surprised by Joy, C. S. Lewis distinguishes joy from happiness and pleasure, describing it as a longing more desirable than any satisfaction. Unlike pleasure, “joy is never in our power.” It is given.
Joy is gifted to us even amid pain and suffering. God gives us joy as a gift. It is not in our power, but in the One who is joy himself and has given himself to us (Gal. 2:20; Ps. 16:11).
Joy Is a Choice
A close friend shared an experience from the Sri Lankan civil war. Returning home from a prayer meeting, his family of five found their house looted and burned to the ground. Standing in tears, looking at the rubble, one of them noticed an unburnt book. It was the songbook used during family prayer.
Joy is a gift, but it is also a choice: choosing again and again to return to the truth of Jesus as our source of joy.
With tears in his eyes, my friend said, “The world can take everything away from us, but it cannot take the song Jesus has put in our hearts.”
What he was telling me was that he chose the truth of Jesus as the one and only joy that can help them go through the pain of loss. Whether the untouched songbook was a coincidence, a miracle, or a sign mattered less than what they chose to see. They chose to remember that Christ remained their source of joy.
Joy is a gift, but it is also a choice: choosing again and again to return to the truth of Jesus as our source of joy (Hab. 3:18).
Joy Is a Discipline
Recently, I was asked to give a eulogy for an aunt. As I prepared, I was reminded of a quote I had just read: “You will never be cured of grief, it’s true. But you will be joyful, anyway. I swear.”
Memories of her joyful spirit came flooding back. As I shared them, smiles and laughter emerged through the tears. Later that evening, our family continued telling stories of the joy she had brought into our lives. Together, as a community, we encouraged each other to choose joy.
Community helps us practice joy.
When joy-dissipating news surrounds us daily, we need the discipline of remembering (Lam. 3:21-23). We must learn to notice the songs, sights, and moments of joy that still surround us.
C. S. Lewis writes, “Shut your mouth; open your eyes and ears. Take in what is there and give no thought to what might have been there.” He challenges us to use our God-given senses to find reasons for joy, even in seasons of pain.
Kate Bowler says that joy is “one of the most powerful ways we experience the deepest and most healing forms of gratitude, delight, and hope. It is a kind of transcendence; joy is a glimmer of love and forgiveness and wholeness that lifts us out of reality for a moment and gives us back to ourselves, anew.” This belief enables us to remember, to see, and to listen.
Yet when we stand in the depths of grief or despair, joy can feel like an insult. Often, that is because we are searching for happiness. Happiness depends largely on circumstances, while joy reaches deeper. We may not be happy and sad at the same time, but we can carry joy while we grieve.
Why We Can Choose Joy
The writer of Hebrews tells us to fix our eyes on Jesus, “who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame” (Heb. 12:2).
Jesus’s joy was not rooted in circumstances but in purpose. The purpose was not his glory, but to secure our redemption and reconciliation through his sacrifice on the cross. He endured the cross so that we might share his joy (John 15:11).
Such joy is permanent because Jesus, not our circumstances, is its foundation. It is purposeful because through the joy we receive, we become a source of hope for others.
This is the paradox of Christian joy. When we walk with Jesus, even through the difficult times, we discover a deeper, more resilient joy that nothing can take away—one that is perfected in pain.
